A Friend in the Darkness
by RainingYellowRoses
Summary: "And then I drink. I drink to forget. I drink to forget their faces, I drink to forget the blood, I drink to forget the things I've allowed to be done to my body, I drink to forget that out of everything in the world, the thing I want most is death." In other words, Gintoki helps Hijikata through the darkness. mentioned OMC/Hijjikata, Gintoki/Hijikata if you squint.


Summary: "And then I drink. I drink to forget. I drink to forget their faces, I drink to forget the blood, I drink to forget the things I've allowed to be done to my body, I drink to forget that out of everything in the world, the thing I want most is death. I don't want to be able to think anymore, or feel. I just want to die, to be numb from this pain."

In other words, Gintoki helps Hijikata through the darkness. OMC/Hijjikata, Gintoki/Hijikata if you squint.

Warning: dubcon, angst, suicidal thoughts, copious amounts of drinking

Sometimes he killed people. With one swipe of his blade he cut them to pieces, effectively murdering multitudes of people, taking hundreds of lives without a second thought. After all, hesitation on the battlefield equated to death. But was this really a battlefield when the sides were so dangerously unequal? The amanto had the advantage in numbers, most definitely, but what people tended to forget was that the Shiroyasha wasn't the only well-known demon samurai during the Amanto war. There was another, commonly referred to as Kuro no Akuma, the black devil. His name slipped into the forgotten corners of history once the war came to a close, as did Shiroyasha's, but he had been there just as well.

Only three of the people he had known during that time were still alive. But one had been too young to really know of his legend. The blonde child had fought, but not on the frontlines. The other had been his general, a naïve man, a man rough around the edges, but who emitted a light so strong that he gave hope to even the most hopeless of souls. Soldiers—samurai really—flocked around him, and still did to this day. Only now, things were a little different. Haunted corpse filled battlefields had been traded for Shinsengumi barracks, tattered blood-drenched kimono exchanged for uniforms of navy blue, and the name Kuro no Akuma replaced by Hijikata Toushirou, the Demonic Vice-Commander of the Shinsengumi.

The battles of the past slipped from everyday life into nightmares and memories better left forgotten. But sometimes it wasn't so easy for Hijikata to forget how he slaughtered thousands in the name of an Edo free of aliens. Every now and then it became especially hard to swallow the harsh truth that after the war had ended the three of them had essentially became lapdogs for the alien bigwigs whom had been their enemy just hours beforehand.

Though he supposed, that in the end, Kuro no Akuma had never actually been fighting for freedom to begin with, he'd been fighting to keep the untainted smile alive on the face of Isao Kondo. He'd been fighting so the man would never lose the joyous laugh that rang through barracks and lifted their tattered spirits. Isao Kondo was Hijikata's last innocence, he was all the raven had left in that regard, and letting that man become corrupted would have been the last straw. The raven's survival depended on him, because if his General had died then he would have to. There would have been no shining light at the other side of the tunnel for the vice-commander to depend on for hope.

And really, the most important part of a battle was having the hope that somehow what was most important would survive in the end. In the end of all things, belief was the most crucial of elements.

So sometimes, after an especially rough mission for the Shinsengumi, Hijikata could be found at his local bar, enjoying a cup of sake, or two, or ten. So sometimes he got so drunk he couldn't see the floor, or the door, or possibly even his own hands. So sometimes he couldn't make it all the way home and would crash in a deserted alleyway for the night. His back would be sore in the morning and he'd have a splitting headache but it would be worth it. It would be worth the pain because physical soreness was better than a mental breakdown.

He knew the signs of his own break down fast approaching because he nearly avoided it on a constant basis. They would start out as normal missions, like any other. But in the midst of cutting down a faction of Joi rebels—really, didn't he used to be on their side?—the raven would forget which soul was supposed to be inhabiting his body. Was he Kuro or was he Hijikata? It was all just a little too hard to determine, so he'd go on default, because whoever he was, he was supposed to be taking down these people right now and it was just so much easier to kill when he was Kuro. Hijikata had gone soft in peace-time, but Kuro knew the sharp edge of a blade better than he knew the back of his own hand.

Tonight he wanted to forget his name, forget both his names. The Vice-Commander had ended fifty-two lives earlier today, at six thirty in the morning to be exact. He came back to himself somewhere in the red-light district at two in the afternoon in the midst of being fucked by a drunken slob he didn't remember the name of. That was almost eight hours unaccounted for. It stands to reason that he might have started drinking a little earlier that day than he normally did.

Fortunately it didn't take him long to become completely plastered with the system he's developed. Step one; buy a bottle of the strongest liquor available at the nearest shop to his current location. Step two; drink it on the way to the bar. Step three; set up a tab and don't stop till you drop. However, unfortunately because of his early start he happened to be at the establishment at the same time as the Yorozuya.

The white-haired man showed up around eight. The raven supposed this might have been his normal time, and they had always missed each other because Hijikata usually waited until everyone at the barracks was asleep before sneaking out. Gintoki was probably always gone by the time he got there. But sadly today that wasn't quite the case. The curly-haired bastard didn't notice him upon walking in, and he thanked the gods that. He really didn't feel like talking right now. He really didn't think he could talk right now even if he wanted to.

The Vice-Commander weighed his options. If he tried to get up and walk out the front door he would have to walk past him. If the tried to stumble out the back he would probably fall on his face and make a spectacle of himself. If he stayed where he was the Yorozuya would eventually look in his direction and notice. The raven opted for choice three, not moving. It would be the least potentially embarrassing option. Also, it was easier not to move when drunk. He tended to have less coordination than usual.

One hour later and Gintoki hadn't noticed him, probably because he'd put his head down when he had started to pass out shortly after the Yorozuya's arrival. Half an hour more and finally the man was leaving. This meant Hijikata could get home—or to the alley—now and fall into the dreamless sleep he so desperately craved. He couldn't take much more before he was completely knocked out so he had to use the last of his energy to find a place to sleep. He paid his tab and stumbled out the door.

It was snowing.

He didn't think he'd be able to walk home, but sleeping in the snow probably wasn't a wise choice either. He turned towards the alley anyway—being smashed tended to inhibit decision making. It took him nearly ten minutes to make it a couple feet to the entrance of his soon to be makeshift bedroom. By the time he reached it he was on his knees from the exertion. Seconds before he was home-free a pair of boot clad feet stepped in front of him. They were blurry to his eyes and aggravating. The legs attached to those boots said something. He couldn't understand it.

Then there was motion and it felt like his head was splitting open. After taking a moment to readjust his hazy vision the raven was able to pick out knees from the blur. The knees were covered in a tight black fabric, showing off strong thigh muscles, and a little higher up a large bulge in the crotch area. Hijikata quickly tore his eyes away, scoffing as he recognized the mop of silver hair on top of the unknown creature. Though he couldn't recognize the face he'd know that hair anywhere. He wanted to say something but his mouth wouldn't open so he settled for glaring in the general direction of Gintoki.

A sudden and violent wave of nausea hit him as he was manhandled into the samurai's arms and lifted off the ground.

"Shit," was the only word he seemed capable of grinding out to express his distaste for the situation.

~X~

He must have passed out soon after being picked up because the next thing he remembered seeing was the ceiling of the Yorozuya's apartment. Not the most optimal place to wake up in, but certainly better than a snow-covered alleyway. Half asleep and head pounding like it was about to implode, Hijikata carefully walked over to where his shoes were placed on the floor and pulled them on.

He listened quietly, trying to hear if anyone else was in the house. Upon hearing nothing but silence the raven decided he could safely leave the room and get out of Gintoki's residence. He slid open the door and gingerly placed one foot in front of the other and slid a hand along the wall towards the door. The door was only a few baby steps away when it opened without his help.

And there was Gintoki, staring directly at him as they faced each other on opposite sides of the door. The shinsengumi vice-commander opened his mouth to speak but found he didn't know what to say. The other man quietly waited while he struggled to come up with an appropriate response to waking up in the house of a man he typically didn't like with a headache the size of Edo and an unmistakable soreness in his ass from being fucked by a stranger. And finally he settled on a single word.

"Thanks."

Gintoki looked at him questioningly.

"You look like hell. Your normally _charming_ demeanor seems a little less enthusiastic today. Is something bothering the Mayo King, hmm?"

Hijikata hesitated to answer. The answer to the question was, 'Yes, I can't remember why I'm still alive when all I want to do is die.' But he wasn't about to say that to the perm-headed samurai. The man might understand, but Hijikata didn't want to be comforted. If there was one thing the raven wouldn't be able to handle it was pity. So he said nothing.

He moved to walk past the other man and leave but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"I know that look. I won't force you, but I think you should talk to someone. If not me, then perhaps Kondo. Keeping everything inside will tear you apart. I know."

And because Hijikata could feel the darkness swelling within him he turned himself around and sat on the other man's couch. It would be too easy to give in to the emptiness right now. He didn't want to acknowledge the truth, but he was afraid—afraid that if he left and went off somewhere on his own it would simply be too easy draw his sword, place it in front of himself, and slice open his stomach. Killing himself would be even less difficult then killing others; he wouldn't fight back.

So that's where he found himself that morning, sitting tentatively on a couch that belonged to the very man sitting on the couch opposite him, whom up until this morning he had harbored a small dislike for.

"Talk to me Hijikata."

A simple order. Not a simple answer.

"I don't know what to say."

And he didn't. He hated talked about his own suffering. It made him feel weak, stupid, like he was seeking attention.

"Just tell me how you feel."

Gintoki's red eyes observed the shinsengumi vice-commander gently as he sat and fidgeted nervously. When the raven finally answered he stilled himself and did so while looking to the right, pointedly not looking at the perm-headed samurai.

"It's hard not to kill myself."

After that sentence it was like the flood gates had opened and Hijikata couldn't stop the words from flowing through and out.

"I keep slipping back into Kuro. I'll find myself bent over, taking it from some nameless figure, without any recollection of the last couple hours. It's not wartime anymore, but my coping mechanisms from back then are still in my subconscious and when I slip into Kuro I just…"

He paused. He hadn't wanted to say that, but he couldn't take it back. And maybe that was a good thing. He needed someone to know. Someone had to know.

"And then I drink. I drink to forget. I drink to forget their faces, I drink to forget the blood, I drink to forget the things I've allowed to be done to my body, I drink to forget that out of everything in the world, the thing I want most is death. I don't want to be able to think anymore, or feel. I just want to die, to be numb from this pain."

He didn't want to cry, but the tears kept trying to escape. He breathed in shakily. The raven could feel his body trembling slightly and he would give anything for it to stop. Anything to spare himself the embarrassment of crying in front of this man. But when Gintoki replied it wasn't with contempt, or disappointment, or disgust, or even pity. He spoke knowingly, quietly, directly.

"I can't forgive you in their place, and I can't take the memories away. But I can drink with you. You aren't alone. We can tread through this darkness together."

And if that wasn't somehow exactly what he had needed to hear, then Hijikata didn't know what was. He still fought the tears, but now he wasn't sure if they were tears of despair or relief, or a sickening mixture of both.

"Let go, Hijikata."

And he did. His body caved in on itself, trembling. His face landing in his palms and hid the wetness seeping from his eyes as his body was wracked with harsh sobs that shook his whole being. Gintoki watched, and he comforted, and then they drank together.

And they fought the darkness together. Somehow, it was better that way.


End file.
